Il Pellegrinaggio Artusiano Day 2

Made it, and as before I'll add photos when I get home.

Picking up where I left off, last night we had a very nice Artusian dinner, which began with cappelletti in broth, followed by boiled fish -- another pilgrim said trout, but it seemed more of a sea fish to me -- with home-made mayonnaise, followed by a stew, filetto alla finanziera, made with castrato, which is a castrated lamb, served in a sauce with finely chopped liver. The sauce translates roughly as "industrialist's sauce, and dates to the late 1899s, when it was popular in financial circles. The stew was followed by roast rabbit (Artusi decries the aversion his dinner guests had to roast rabbit more than once) with potatoes, and finally Torta Manovana. All served with a couple of Romagnan wines, a red and a white, and a Chianti Rufina Riserva,

Very nice, and this morning we assembled at 9, and set off following the Montone valley, which climbs steadily towards Tuscany. At first we were passed by a steady stream of cyclists and motorcyclists (the latter bent upon reaching the pass as quickly as possible), and also saw a few people on horseback Pleasant, easy walking, and after about 7 km we reached the town of Dovadola, which draws its name from "two fords," which is what distinguished the hamlet before the bridges were built. It's a pretty town, with an imposing medieval fortress (largely scaffolded), which is also known for a fall white truffle festival, and herein lies a tale.

Dovadola is tiny, about 1500 people, and despite the quality of its truffles can't compete with the likes of Alba or San Miniato. So they hired Edoardo Raspelli, an Italian critic whose press kit says he has insured his nose and palate for an exorbitant amount, to publicize and preside over the event. Raspelli did assemble a pamphlet of truffle recipes (with his picture, not Dovadola's) on the front, but come time to preside, told them he was sick, and would they kindly pay his fee anyways, thank you.

As you might guess, they are not pleased, and are trying to avoid paying someone what for them is a large amount for not showing up.

After Dovadola we continued up stream, and in another couple of hours reached Rocca San Casciano, which was the local center of Government when this section of Romagna was under Tuscan rule (until 1923, when Mussolini redrew the maps, assigning Romagna Toscana to Emilia Romagna), and as I entered town I beheld a sign inviting me to visit where they worked pietre dure, semi-precious stones, and also the Medici prisons. One advertises what one has.

I found the rest of the party lunching (and in some cases rubbing or bandaging their feet) by the river, and after we went to the town hall, where they mayor offered local foodstuffs -- there's a guy who makes a variety of thick fruit drinks, for example apple-grape, which will be perfect for hikers /of which there are many) in the summer, while they also have someone who makes excellent salami, and a Sardinian family that settled 50 years ago, began herding cattle rather than the sheep more common in Sardegna, and now make an excellent pecorino-sardo-style cheese from cow's milk.

Rocca San Casciano's irregularly shaped main square has pretty porticoes that bring to mind the porticoes in the square in Greve in Chianti, while there are Medici coats of arms on more than one building. After admiring a Della Robbia in the church on the square we set out for Portico di Romagna, another 8 km up the valley.

On the way we passed a bizarre sculpture garden assembled by a guy who retired and then began overtones make and put on display sculptures from whatever he found, Interesting to look at, and after that it was one pretty view after another until I reached Portico di Romagna, where the mayor greeted us with considerable enthusiasm, and Champagne was poured.

Portico is a pretty town, perched on a hill with fortifications at the top of the hill, and -- I am told -- a pretty bridge in the valley below that dates to the year 1000. I should go, but my feet are complaining, and tomorrow 27 km (about 17 miles) await us, including a mountain pass, and it's supposed to rain.

Departure is schduled for 8 AM. Wish us luck.

Il Pellegrinaggio Artusiano Day 1

Our walk to Florence begins at Casa Artusi, in Forlimpopoli, which is not, as one might expect, Artusi's home, because that was raised at some point after he moved to Florence. Rather, it was the seat of the Servi di Maria, a Florentine monastic order that was quite powerful and quite active in the Papal lands beyond Castrocaro and Città del Sole, which were the final Tuscan outposts on this side of the Appennini. Photos, you wonder? I'll add them when I get back to Florence.

The Servi di Maria's facility had been abandoned and was in disrepair when Forlimpopoli decided to do something to celebrate their foremost Native Son; they purchased it at great expense, renovated it, and set up a cooking library with Artusi's books and more recent editions of his cookbooks (including translations, and I was happy to see mine on the shelf) and other books on cookery too. And Artusi's sitting room furniture, with matching sofa and chairs, and his desk, with another high-backed chair that was too small for me to fit into.

Forlimpopoli's mayor gave us a copy of an anastatic reprint of the first edition (Dedicated by Artusi to his two cats), an Artusi flag, and we wet off, all 12 of us. But perhaps I should backtrack. The logical thing would have been for us to come together to Forlimpopoli, but we aren't logical, and last night 6 of us -- me, Carlo, Rossana, Serena, Stefano and Marco -- set off from Florence's station, armed with bags and back packs and sandwich meats and pecorino cheese and bread and… 4 bottles of bubbly and 3 bottles of still wine. It was a happy trip to Forlì, during which we drank the bubbly, attracting the attention of our fellow passages, and put a serious dent in the cold cuts. We reached Forlì on schedule, but were greeted by the announcer saying our connection was 20 minutes late. So we set up on a bench and continued to eat, while the announcer periodically told us our connection was later. By the time it arrived everything was gone, including the cheese, so its lateness wasn't that bad a thing.

We spent the night in Bertinoro, a pretty town perched on a hill overlooking the plains of Romagna, with the coast line quite evident in the distance -- it was where the lights stopped. It's an interesting town with all sorts of plaques -- one dedicated to Garibaldi, and another to the Christian Democrats who governed Italy until the 80s, elevating corruption to an art few others have matched. Odd to honor the corrupt, but Bertinoro did.

And this brings us back to Casa Artusi; after shaking hands we set off at a good pace, walking along the roads, which were agreeably flat, and in just a little longer than we waited at Forlì's station last night we arrived in the main square (note the fascist symbols on the lamp posts, a reminder of a not too distant past), where the Mayor was waiting to greet us, with her tricolored sash, and Ciocofest, a chocolate festival, was getting started. We tasted all sorts of things, and I was especially impressed by the chocolate from Modica, in Sicily, which has a sandy texture derived from sugar crystals that's unlike that of any other chocolate I know of. It's very nice, and they had some that was al sale -- salty --in which as the sugary sweetness faded delicate salty accents emerged. Captivating.

From the heart of Forlì we set off for Castrocaro, cutting through a new park that was full of young lovers lying on the grass, and crawling with rabbits that showed no fear at all of us. Emerging from the park, we started up the valley to Castrocaro, which was one of those gently sloping things that allow you to walk and walk, and if you turn around realize that you have also been climbing. At one point we cut across the valley and turned up a dirt road that was much more pleasant -- no motorcycles zinging by at insane speed, and after several miles reached Città del Sole, a fortified town built by the Medici, who designed it both as a military outpost, and as an ideal city, with precisely laid out streets, which are as wide as the buildings are tall. The gate facing Romagna is called Porta Romana, because it faces the Papal lands, while the gate facing Florence (and Rome, which is a few hundred miles further south) is called Porta Fiorentina.

We got to Castrocaro's town hall a few minutes before the Mayor, and while we waited for her the Assessore del Turismo told us that when the Medici ruled this area, it was extremely active, with a steady stream of spies and reporters coming to tell what was happening in the Papal lands, Venice, and points further north. 8-10 runners bearing reports set out daily for Florence (their reports are now in the archives of the Biblioteca Comunale), while as many runners came back in the other direction, with instructions and requests of all kinds that are now in Castrocaro's archives; among other things one of the Grand Dukes asked about a hunting dog, and another asked for 2000 barrels of red wine (it would have been Sangiovese). The local magistrate answered the question about the dog, and, considering that sending 2000 barrels of wine over the mountains would entail assembling a 1000-mule train (2 barrels per mule), asked the Duke to send soldiers to protect the mules and their drivers from bandits.

Very interesting, and then we went to our hotel, the Grand Hotel Terme, which also has hot springs and with pools and such, and smells vaguely of sulfur. Alas, I didn't think to bring a suit, and they didn't have one in my size. So here I am writing. Today we walked 20 km, and tomorrow will be walking 24, up steeper slopes. We'll see how it goes!